


The Shakespeare Code

by l-ouresdeLuna (facemyJam)



Series: Rose Stays [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Episode AU: s02e13 Doomsday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-01 07:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facemyJam/pseuds/l-ouresdeLuna
Summary: Martha and Rose meet Shakespeare, but Martha learns that sometimes the past isn't nearly as romantic as he thinks he is.Part Three of the Rose Stays Series





	1. Past Differences

**Author's Note:**

> I just barely missed my deadline, but never no mind, here it is!

“But how do you travel in time? What makes it go?” Martha asks her as they hang on for dear life. The TARDIS bucks and dips beneath them as She travels through the Vortex.

 

“Martha,” Rose huffs, the hair in front of her face puffing out as her breath hits it. “I’m not even sure how She flies through space and you want to ask me that question?” She bats her hair out of her face before going around the console and pushing another button that has them crashing to the floor.

 

“Blimey,” Martha groans as she sits up. “Did you even have a flying lesson for this thing?”

 

“Nope,” Rose says sweetly, holding her hand out to help Martha stand. Her ankle must be feeling better. “And I’m actually doing better than the Doctor, for your information.”

 

“Oh, are you?” Martha teases, secretly wondering just how bad this Doctor person was at driving. She dusts off her pants and then looks towards the doors. “So, where are we, then?”

 

“Have a look,” Rose urges, walking behind her as Martha sprints to the doors and flings them open.

 

“Oh, you are kidding me,” Martha says incredulously. “You are so  _ kidding me _ ! Oh, my god, we did it! We travelled in time!” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Where are we? No, sorry. I got to get used to this whole new language.  _ When _ are we?” Rose pulls her back into the TARDIS as something splashes on the ground before her.

 

“Gardez l’eau!” A man shouts from above and Martha laughs.

 

“Somewhere before indoor plumbing,” Rose tells her going back to the console. “Sorry about that.”

 

“I’ve seen worse,” Martha tells her waving off her apology. “I’ve worked the late night shift A+E. But, are we safe? I mean, can we move around and stuff?” She asks looking back to the open doors. Maybe there was a reason they were still inside the TARDIS.

 

“Yeah, it’s safe,” Rose answers as she fiddles with the computer screen attached to the console.

 

“But what about the films? You step on a butterfly, you change the future of the human race,” Martha asks.

 

“Nah,” Rose denies distractedly. “I’ve been to the past a lot. You’ll be okay. Jus’... watch out for the butterflies.” She smacks the side of the computer screen and mutters something that Martha can’t understand, but it sounds like she’s cursing.

 

“What if,” Martha continues because she has so many questions she should’ve asked before they came to the past. “I don’t know, what if I kill my grandfather?”

 

Rose’s head shoots up and turns to look at Martha, a horrid expression on her face. “What? Why would you do that?”

 

“Well, not on purpose!” Martha defends herself. Rose scratches the back of her head.

 

“Well, then you’d change the future of the human race,” she says repeating Martha’s words. “People, even those considered inconsequential, act like the ripple effect. They all have something to offer in history, believe you me.” Martha has to bite her bottom lip to keep from spewing out more questions “And to answer your original question, we’re somewhere around 1599.”

 

“We in London?”

 

“I think so,” Rose says with a shrug her eyes darting to the computer screen before focusing on Martha again.

 

“But, hold on,” Martha says as she looks back out the doors and then down to her hands. “Am I alright? I’m not going to get carted off as a slave, am I?” Rose’s eyes widen.

 

“Uhhh,” She splutters as she looks back at the monitor and then sighs in relief. “No, you should be good.” Martha also sighs, but it’s only in partial relief. She was still worried about becoming a slave. “Wanna get changed?”

 

“Changed?” Martha asks perking right back up. She always loved a good costume opportunity.

 

“Well, we can’t exactly go walking around dressed as we are. We’d start a riot,” Rose tells her. “An’ not jus’ ‘cos we’re hot,” she adds a second later before gesturing Martha to follow her. Martha hadn’t even known there was more to the ship than this room, but she shouldn’t have been surprised really.

 

They walk past several doors and Martha is wondering what’s behind them when Rose stops before an ornate wooden door. She opens it and Martha swears she’s died and gone Heaven.

 

“Oh,” she says softly spinning around to take in the whole of the room. There were clothes everywhere. Some were in messy piles as high as Big Ben and others were hanging neatly on racks labeled with dates. Rose leads her over to the one labeled 1599 and Martha looked at the dresses, feeling intimidated and out of her element.

 

“You don’t have to wear the whole outfit,” Rose tells her as she shuffles through the rack of dresses. “Just this over shift thing and the actual dress itself. I usually wear a strapless bra just in case.” Martha nods even though she still feels overwhelmed. She goes over to the other side of the rack and tries to think on how they would look on her.

 

She finally settles on a dark red dress with a sensible neckline that won’t make her feel like she doesn’t have enough to offer in the chest region. She sees Rose had picked out a pale yellow dress that made her look innocent and girly. Martha envied her for that. She, herself, probably looked uncomfortable and awkward.

 

“Oh, Martha! That looks great on you!” Rose compliments helping her finish lacing up the outside of her dress. How Rose had done it by herself is a mystery.

 

“Thanks,” Martha replies sighing in relief. “I’m a little nervous.” Rose smiles at her and hooks her arm through Martha’s.

 

“I was, too, my first go around,” Rose confesses as they head back down the hall. “Went to 1860 Cardiff and met Charles Dickens.”

 

“ _ No _ !  _ The _ Charles Dickens!?” Martha gasped out nearly pulling her arm out of Rose’s as she turns towards the girl. That sounded like quite the adventure. “What’s he like?”

 

“Well, he was not half rude. Kept complaining about how aliens couldn’t be real when they were bloody walking around right in front of him!” Rose chuckles and shakes her head. “Though, I suppose he  _ did _ save us by blowing up that funeral home,” she muses a minute later as they reach the TARDIS doors.

 

“You’re so telling me that story later,” Martha tells her as she becomes entranced once more with the window to the past.

 

“Aye aye,” Rose agrees shutting the doors behind her before they waltz down the street. Martha has to hold back a squeal as she takes it all in. She had travelled back in time!

 

“So, where are we going?” Martha asks eagerly as they walk on. “Do you just wander around looking for trouble or- Wait a minute,” Martha interrupts herself as she looks over at the building she had seen from the corner of her eye. “Is that? Is that the Globe!?” She bounces where she stood, glad to have Rose’s hand on her elbow to keep her from falling.

 

Rose shrugs as she looks over at the building Martha was fawning over. “I guess. I don’t really know that much about this part of history.”

 

“But that’s where Shakespeare works!” Martha tells her before dragging Rose behind her. Maybe one of his plays were in session and she could see it! She could actually view one of his plays! Probably the first ever to be performed, too!

 

\--

 

Rose and Martha get into the Globe Theatre easily enough and, just as Martha hoped, one of his plays was in progress. She didn’t even mind the smell coming off the people crowded around her because she was seeing one of Shakespeare’s plays how they were meant to be seen!

 

“That’s amazing! Just amazing. It’s worth putting up with the smell,” Martha whispers to Rose.

 

“An’ it is smelly,” Rose says back waving a hand underneath her nose and Martha huffs a laugh at her scrunched up face. “Are these men thinking they can fool everyone with their shoddy makeup?”

 

“Yeah, my brother Leo looks like a cosmetics genius compared to these fellows,” Martha agrees as one of the actors pretending to be a woman swoops about the stage.

 

“Maybe we should give ‘em a few tips, eh?”

 

Martha snorts. “Like they’d listen to us. And where’s Shakespeare?” She adds when she notices the play ending. “I want to see Shakespeare. Author! Author! Do people shout that? Do they shout Author?” Someone else in the crowd picks up Martha’s chant and then several more until the man himself comes out onto the stage amidst a roaring applause.

 

“Well, if they didn’t before, they certainly do now,” Rose shouts to her above the cheering.

 

“He’s a bit different from his portraits,” Martha points out and Rose gives him an approving up and down look.

 

“That’s not exactly a bad thing,” Rose tells her and Martha has to choke back a laugh.

 

“Ah, shut yer big fat mouths!” Shakespeare shouts from atop the stage.

 

“Ah,” Rose says sagely, nodding her head as Martha stands dumbfounded. “Never meet your heroes.”

 

“You’ve got excellent taste, I’ll give you that,” he slurs as he stumbles where he stands. “Oh, that’s a wig,” he laughs out cheekily, pointing to someone in the audience, who is eating his words up.

 

\--

 

“Wind the craft of ancient harm. The time approaches for our charm.”

 

\--

 

“I know what you’re all saying. Love’s Labour’s Lost, that’s a funny ending, isn’t it? It just stops. Will the boys get the girls? Well, don’t get your hose in a tangle, you’ll find out soon.” The crowd grumbles and makes noises at his words. “Yeah, yeah. All in good time. You don’t rush a genius,” He tells them before suddenly going rigid and blank. “When?” he asks the crowd. “Tomorrow night. The premiere of my brand new play. A sequel, no less, and I call it Love’s Labour’s Won.” He said it without slurring or belting it out in confidence and swagger. Martha knew something was wrong.

 

“I’m not an expert, but I’ve never heard of Love’s Labour’s Won,” Martha says to Rose who is also frowning.

 

“I’m not one either, but I’ve never heard the Doctor moon over it,” Rose tells her wringing her hands into her dress skirts. “Also, did you hear the way he talked? Like he was jus’ readin’ lines off a page or summat.”

 

“Well, we could always capture it on mini-disc. We could flog it. Sell it when we get home and make a mint,” Martha kids as they exit the theatre with the rest of the crowd.

 

“Yeah, but no one would understand a word,” Rose points out.

 

“What d’you mean? We can understand them just fine.”

 

“Yeah, but the TARDIS is translating for us. You think they speak regular english aloud and jus’ write down the funny kind on paper?” Rose had a point and Martha hadn’t even thought of that.

 

“Huh,” She says as she looks around listening to the people’s conversations flowing around her. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

 

Rose shrugs before shooting her a wicked grin. “Wanna meet the man himself?” Martha responds with a grin of her own, feeling like she’s back in that hospital about to chase down an alien fugitive.

 

\--

 

“Here you go, Will. Drink up. There’s enough beer in this lodgings house to sink the Spanish,” Dolly tells him with a smile.

 

“Dolly Bailey, you’ve saved my life,” Shakespeare tells her dramatically. Dolly rolls her eyes but has a small, fond smile on her face.

 

“I’ll do more than that later tonight. And you, girl, hurry up with your tasks. The talk of gentlemen is best not overheard.” A small girl in the corner of the room ducks her head in obeisance.

 

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” she says meekly before she exits the room.

 

“You must be mad, Will,” Burbage tells the man. “Love’s Labour’s Won? I mean, we’re not ready. It’s supposed to be next week. What made you say that?”

 

“You haven’t even finished it yet,” Kempe points out before Shakespeare could defend himself.

 

“I’ve just got the final scene to go. You’ll get it by morning,” Shakespeare explains to them with an easy smile on his face.

 

“Hello? Excuse me, I’m not interrupting anything am I? Mr. Shakespeare, innit?” A voice calls out and Shakespeare sighs rubbing a spot between his brows.

 

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Who let you in?” He asks wearily. “No autographs. No, you can’t have yourself sketched with me. And please, don’t ask me where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now, be a good-” he cuts off as he looks up at Rose and Martha.

 

“Hey, nonny nonny,” he says giving them a flirtatious grin. “Sit right down here next to me. You two, get sewing on them costumes. Off you go.” He shoos away the two men with him before turning back towards them.

 

“Come on, lads,” Dolly says waving them out another door. “I think our William’s found his new muse.”

 

“Sweet ladies,” Shakespeare greets when the others have left. “Such fine clothes. So… fitted.”

 

“Er, verily, forsooth, egads,” Martha responds listing all the old english she knew. Rose gently nudges her in the side.

 

“You can talk normally,” she whispers to Martha before whipping out the badge she had on the moon. “Dame Rose of Powell and this is Martha Jones.”

 

“Interesting, that bit of paper. It’s blank,” Shakespeare tells her leaning back in his chair, no longer admiring them.

 

Rose gasps and turns the paper to face her. “What?”

 

“No, it says so right there,” Martha defends looking over Rose’s shoulder at the badge, wondering how it changed words. “Dame Rose, Martha Jones. It says so.”

 

“And  _ I _ say it’s blank,” Shakespeare states raising an eyebrow in challenge.

 

“Huh, the psychic papers never done that before,” Rose thinks aloud before putting it back in her dress pocket.

 

“Psychic?” Shakespeare asks with a frown. “Never heard that before and words are my trade. Who are you exactly?” He asks sitting forward before he turns his attentions towards Martha. “More to the point, who is your delicious blackamoor lady friend?”

 

“Excuse me?” Martha asks more shocked that he was eyeing her instead of Rose, than about his blatant racism. 

 

“Oops. Isn’t that a word we use nowadays? And Ethiop girl? A swarth? A Queen of Afric?” He lists and Martha couldn’t believe her ears, this time because of his words and not the direction of his gaze.

 

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Martha says incredulously. It was political correctness gone mad.

 

“Martha’s from London y’know,” Rose tells him, a fire in her eyes. “And I believe you call a person by their name, not the colour of their skin. No matter how pretty the words you throw at her sound.”

 

Before Shakespeare could talk back, a man in expensive looking clothes and a gold chain necklace bursts into the room. Martha wonders what it was about rich men and their gold chains.

 

“Excuse me!” He shouts as he enters. “I demand to see a script, Mr. Shakespeare. As Master of the Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me before it can be performed!”

 

“Tomorrow morning, first thing,” Shakespeare says placatingly. “I’ll send it round.”

 

The man shakes his head, his face flushed with his fury. “I don’t work to your schedule, you work to mine. The script, now!” He demands with his hand out.

 

“I can’t,” Shakespeare unwillingly tells him.

 

“Then tomorrow’s performance is cancelled,” the man threatens.

 

“It’s all go around here, isn’t it?” Martha whispers to Rise who makes a ‘yikes’ face back.

 

“I’m returning to my office for a banning order. If it’s the last thing I do, Love’s Labour’s Won will never be played!” He turns around and stomps dramatically out of the room.

 

\--

 

“Oh, sorry sir. Begging your pardon, sir,” a small serving girl says meekly. “Mind you don’t hurt that handsome head of yours,” she says as she reaches up and strokes the head of the man she’s talking to.

 

“Hold hard, wanton woman!” The man yells at her before leaning in a whispering, “I shall return later.” As he leaves the serving girl grins to herself as she holds up a lock of the man’s hair.

 

The girl searches for a quiet corner before pulling out a doll made out of twigs. “Oh, my mothers,” she says to the doll. “There’s one who seeks to stop the performance tomorrow.”

 

“But it must be tomorrow!” A shrill voice answers back.

 

“Love’s Labour’s Won must be performed,” Another voice says. The serving girl drapes the lock of hair from the man across the doll's head.

 

“Fear not,” she says. “Chant with me. Water damps the fiercest flame.”

 

“Drowns down girls and boys the same,” another voice adds. The girl then drops the doll into a pail of water that was nearby.

 

Across the way, the Master of the Revels clutches his throat as he sways on his feet.

 

\--

 

“Well, then. Mystery solved. That’s Love’s Labour’s Won over and done with,” Martha says. “Thought it might be something more, you know, more mysterious.” As soon as she is done speaking, though, a scream shatters through the room. Another scream joins the first and all three of them race outside.

 

“Help me!” A woman shouts and Martha gets a glimpse of a person staggering on their feet.

 

“That’s that Master of the Revels bloke,” Martha says as she gets closer.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Rose asks as they come to a stop just beside the hysterical lady.

 

“Leave it to me,” Martha tells the crying woman. “I’m a doctor. Or, near enough,” she whispers the last part under her breath as she reaches out to the man.

 

\--

 

The serving girl takes her doll back out of the water as she watches the scene before her. “Now to halt the vital part,” two voices say together. “Stab the flesh.”

 

“And stop the heart,” the serving girl finishes, piercing the doll with a pin. “Eternal sleep is thine.” She then pulls the doll’s head off.


	2. Almost Martha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaths, and witches, and plays, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was edititng part eight of this series, only to realise i never completed writing it! So, after this one and part four, the Rose Stays series is going to have longer update times. Not to worry, though, I am going to keep writing this until I find an ending I like!

The man falls to the ground and Martha kneels over him. “What’s his name?” she asks Shakespeare.

 

“Lynley,” he tells her absentmindedly, his attention on the man’s face.

 

“Okay, well, got to get the heart going. Mr. Lynley? Can you hear me? You’re going to be alright,” Martha tells him before tilting his head back. She doesn’t get further than that, though, as water spews out of his mouth. “What the Hell is  _ that _ ?”

 

“His lungs must be full of water,” Rose concludes as she squats down on the other side of Lynley. “He drowned somehow an’ then suffered a blow to the chest,” she adds as she smooths a hand down his chest, her hand catching on the fabric above his heart. “An invisible blow.”

 

“But how?” Martha asks as she examines the body as well. Rose doesn’t respond to her. Instead, she stands right back up and moves towards the pub owner.

 

“Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours. Call a constable and have him taken away,” Rose tells the owner.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Dolly complies nodding her head and moving to do just that.

 

“I’ll do it, ma’am,” a serving girl says, leaving with a small smug smile on her face. Rose frowns looking after the girl before going back over to where Martha was still examining Lynley’s body.

 

“And why are you telling them that?” Martha asks in a low voice.

 

“Well, I didn’t want to jus’ come out an’ say this man looks like he was killed with magic. This is practically the Dark Ages. You tell this lot that an’ they’ll go out on a witch hunt, so I asked the TARDIS to give me an excuse they’d believe.”

 

“Okay, what was it really, then?”

 

“Not a clue,” Rose says with a grin on her face.

 

\--

 

Three witches stand around a bubbling cauldron.

 

“The potion is prepared. Now, take it. Magic words for the playwright’s fevered in mind,” one of them says handing over a vial to the youngest looking of the three.

 

“Shakespeare will release us. The mind of a genius will unlock the tide of blood,” the other crows.

 

“Upon this night, the work is done. A muse to pen Love’s Labour’s Won,” the serving girl from earlier states victoriously, an evil grin on her face.

 

\--

 

“I got you a room, Dame Rose,” Dolly tells the woman as they reenter Shakespeare’s work room. “You and Ms. Jones are just across the landing.” 

 

“Thank you, Ms. Dolly,” Rose tells her before collapsing into one of the chairs across from Shakespeare’s desk.

 

“Poor Lynley,” the man says forlornly. “So many strange events. Not least of all, this untold news where a woman can be a doctor in London?”

 

“Where a woman can do what she likes,” Martha corrects him haughtily. Going to the past may have sounded fun, but, unless you were white and male, wasn’t really any fun so far.

 

“And you, Dame Rose,” Shakespeare says to the woman. “How can a woman so young have eyes so old?”

 

“I do like to travel,” she answers.

 

“A trite reply,” Shakespeare tells her with a nod of his head as if he had expected it. “Yeah, that’s what I’d do. And you?” He asks turning towards Martha. “You look at her like you’re surprised she exists. She’s as much of a puzzle to you as she is to me.”

 

Martha opens and closes her mouth several times as she thinks of something to say. “I think we should say goodnight,” she settles on, getting up from her chair and waiting until Rose also stands before moving to the door.

 

“I must work,” Shakespeare tells them unruffled at Martha’s nonreply. “I have a play to complete, but I’ll get my answers tomorrow, Dame Rose. And I’ll discover more about you and this constant performance of yours.”

 

“All the world’s a stage,” Martha cheekily responds as they exit the room.

 

“Hmm, I might use that,” Shakespeare mutters to himself.

 

\--

 

“It’s not exactly five star,” Martha complains as she looks around their room for the night. Why couldn’t they have gone back to the TARDIS?

 

“I’ve seen worse,” Rose tells her as she plops down in the bed. “‘S better than most prisons I’ve been in.”

 

“I haven’t even got a toothbrush, though,” Martha points out ignoring the second part of Rose’s sentence because her mind was swirling with enough questions as is. Rose digs around in her dress pocket and pulls out a toothbrush. Marth wonders if she could do that too if her dress had pockets. She’ll remember that next time they dress up.

 

“Ooh, Venusian Spearmint. Tha’s a good one,” Rose tells her as she hands it over, diggin another out of her pocket with her other hand.

 

“So,” Martha says as she sits on the other side of the bed, her back rested on the wall behind her. “Magic and stuff. That’s a surprise. It’s all a little bit Harry Potter.”

 

“Ooh, tha’s a good series. I won’t spoil it for you, though,” Rose says as she fluffs out her skirts to get more comfortable.

 

Martha shakes away the part of her that wants to discuss that more to focus on the more present problem. “But, is it real, though? I mean, witches, black magic, and all that, it’s real?”

 

Rose shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, ‘s probably like C.S. Lewis says, that magic is just a science we don’t understand or summat.”

 

“The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” Martha sighs smiling at the thought of one of her favourite childhood books.

 

“I remember asking my mum for it when I was a kid, but we were tight on funds, so I gave myself the five finger discount,” Rose says conspiratorially. Martha gasps in shock at her grinning friend.

 

“ _ No _ !”

 

“Yep,” Rose tells her smugly. “She found out later, though, and gave me such a smacking I was afraid to even  _ touch _ another book for a whole month.” Rose shivers at the thought.

 

“I remember when I was little and my brother, Leo, was being annoying, so I pushed him off the couch. He wanted to watch some kid show and I wanted to watch this teen drama thing, I can’t even remember the name of it, let alone what it was about,” Martha chuckles as she reminisces. “Anyways, he went crying to mum and she let me have it. She dressed me down good.”

 

“Must be nice,” Rose mumbles stirring Martha from memories of her family.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“To have a sibling,” Rose clarifies.

 

“I mean, I guess,” Martha says with a shrug. It wasn’t like she was the best of friends with her brother and sister, but they were there for her like she was there for them.

 

“I’m supposed to have a sibling,” Rose says quietly.

 

“Supposed to?” Martha repeats.

 

“Yeah, my mum’s pregnant with… well, I don’t know the sex. Don’t suppose I ever will.”

 

“But, I thought,” Martha starts, frowning in thought. She was confused. Didn’t Rose say her family was dead?

 

“Oh, no. They aren’t dead,” Rose corrects. “They’re jus’... not here anymore.” At Martha’s even  _ more _ confused look Rose shakes her head. “It’s a long and complicated story and it’s still too painful to even think about.”

 

“Maybe later,” Martha says quietly. “For now, though, I’d like to hear more of Dickens and how he committed arson for you.”

 

Rose gives her a grateful smile before turning to face her. Martha can’t help but wonder just what happened to her as she begins her tale.

 

\--

 

Shakespeare is in his writing room when a green cloud floats over to him. As he breathes it in he hears a susurration of voices before collapsing onto the papers he was writing on. The serving girl enters the room and holds up a new doll with strings and a quill in its hand before her.

 

“Bind the mind and take the man. Speed the words to the writer’s hand,” she chants as she tugs on a string. Shakespeare jerks upright and starts to write on the papers without looking at them, his eyes clouded over as the witch does her magic.

 

“Will?” Dolly asks as she opens the door. “Finished cleaning just in time for your special treat.” She spots the back of the serving girl. “Oh, aye. I’m not the first, then.”

 

The serving girl turns around, only, her face is not that of a young maiden, but that of an old crone. The witch snatches the broom from the paralyzed Dolly.

 

“I’ll take that to aid my flight and you shall speak no more this night,” the witch says and Dolly screams.

 

In a flash, Rose and Martha stop their conversation and run to where they heard the scream coming from. As they enter, Shakespeare jumps up from where he was resting his head on the desk.

 

“What? What was that?” He asks disorientated. Rose goes over to where Dolly is lying and Martha is behind her until something catches her eye at the window. It was a witch. It was a flying witch.

 

“It looks like she died of fright,” Rose says as she checks Dolly over.

 

“Rose?” Martha calls out.

 

“Martha? Are you okay?” Rose asks as she gets up and joins Martha at the window.

 

“I saw…,” Martha starts before swallowing thickly.

 

“You saw?”

 

“A witch,” she whispers feeling like she’s lost her mind.

 

“Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey,” Shakespeare mourns. “She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place when we all ran like rats. But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit.”

 

“It’s not fair, is it?” Rose asks bitterly. “Who stays and who leaves.”

 

“But the thing is,” Martha says thinking aloud. “Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you.” She points at Shakespeare, who bristles at the accusation.

 

“Are you accusing me?”

 

“No, but I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you’ve written about witches,” she tells him.

 

“I have? When was that?” he asks confusedly.

 

“So, not yet, then,” Martha mutters as Rose nudges her in the ribs.

 

“Peter Streete spoke of witches,” Shakespeare tells them.

 

“Who’s Peter Streete?” Rose asks.

 

“Our builder. He sketched the plans to the Globe.”

 

“Well, let’s go talk to him, then,” Rose says making her way to the door.

 

“You won’t get an answer,” Shakespeare calls after her. “A month after finishing the theatre, he lost his mind.”

 

“What?” Martha asks at the same time Rose asks, “Well, where is he now?”

 

“Bedlam,” Shakespeare says answering Rose.

 

“What’s Bedlam?” Rose asks him.

 

“Bethlem Hospital. The madhouse.”

 

“Great,” Rose mutters under her breath before sighing and running a hand through her hair. “Well, I guess we’ll jus’ have to go there.” She makes her way to the door again.

 

“Wait!” Shakespeare calls out again. “I’m coming with you. I want to witness this first hand.” They walk out the pub. “Besides, young ladies such as yourselves should never walk around unescorted.”

 

“How gentlemanly,” Martha says sarcastically in monotone.

 

They head first to the Globe Theatre so Shakespeare could hand off his newly finished script to the actors.

 

“Ralph, the last scene as promised,” he said to a small boy. “Copy it, hand it round, learn it, speak it. I’ll be back before curtain up. And remember, kid, project. Eyes and teeth. You never know, the Queen might turn up.” He walks away and joins Rose and Martha who were waiting a ways away. “As if. She never does,” he mutters.

 

“So, tell me of this London where women can be doctors, writers, actors,” Shakespeare says conversationally to Martha.

 

“This country’s ruled by a woman,” Martha points out.

 

“Ah, she’s royal. That’s god’s business,” he says dismissively before leaning into her space. “Though, you are a royal beauty.”

 

Martha is in shock at his persistent flirting. “Whoa, nelly,” she says putting up a hand to act as a barrier between them. “I know for a fact that you’ve got a wife in the country.”

 

“But Martha,” he pouts. “This is town.” Rose snorts and rolls her eyes.

 

“We could all have a good flirt later,” she tells him. “You’re worse than my mate, Jack. Honestly.”

 

“He can join in, too,” Shakespeare says cheekily with a wink.

  
“Oh, 57 academics just punched the air,” Martha says sharing a wide smile with Rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to add that 57 academics line, and I think Jack would definitely enjoy the invitation from Shakespeare.
> 
> Also, as previously stated, I'm doing another writing fic where one of the character I'm writing is trans and I would love it if I could get some feedback on certain parts. I had originally just planned on the character being a one off, but then I fell in love with the back story i created for them, so any help writing them would be appreciated! You can contact me here, or on my tumblr, windingchimes! please and thank you!


	3. Yeah Shakespeare!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Them three face a Carrionite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever have a happy day and then one whole conversation ruins it? Why do people think they can contradict you when it comes to something about yourself? 
> 
> Anyways, have an update!

“Love’s Labour’s Won,” Burbage states. “I don’t think much of sequels. They’re never as good as the original.”

 

“Have you seen this last bit?” Kempe asks him, showing the page that he meant to Burbage. “He must have been dozing off when he wrote that. I don’t even know what it means.”

 

“Yeah? Well, that goes for most of his stuff. Ah, but at least it’s my speech. Ah ha! I get centre stage,” he says as he walks to his cue mark. “The light of Shadmock’s hollow moon doth shine onto a point in space betwixt Dravidian shores-” He cuts off as a burst of wind rips through the theatre.

 

“What was that?” Kempe asks.

 

“Dravidian shores linear five one three oh one six,” Burbage continues.

 

\--

 

“A spirit stirs the ether,” one of the witches says. “But too soon. Too soon.” The three look into the cauldron to view the actors upon the Globe’s stage.

 

“Not to fear, my mother’s,” the youngest one says. “It is merely a rehearsal of what’s to come.”

 

\--

 

“-and strikes the fulsome grove of Rexel Four,” Burbage completes just as a puff of smoke appears before the two. It twists into a slim figure and they are both struck with fear.

 

“By all the saints,” Kempe whispers. “It’s a spirit. It’s a vile shade.” The smoked figure reaches towards them then disappears with a shrill shriek.

 

“I think we should never speak of this again,” Kempe tells Burbage. “Else we’ll end up in Bedlam ourselves.”

 

\--

 

“Does my Lord Shakespeare wish some entertainment while he waits?” the keeper asks as he ushers them into a section of the hospital. “I’d whip these madmen. They’ll put on a good show for you. Mad dog in Bedlam.” He chuckles as he says the last part.

 

“No, I don’t, thank you,” Shakespeare declines looking a little green around the gills.

 

“Well, wait here, my Lord, while I make him decent for the ladies.” The keeper walks off and Martha wastes no time in turning angrily towards Shakespeare.

 

“So, this is what you call a hospital, yeah? Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry? And you put your friend in here?”

 

Shakespeare puffs up at her accusation. “Oh, it’s all so different in your side of London?”

 

“But you’re clever. Do you honestly think this place is any good?”

 

“I’ve been mad,” he confesses. “I’ve lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again. It serves its purpose.”

 

“Mad in what way?” Martha demands, hands on her hips.

 

“I lost my son,” he says softly. “My only boy. The Black Death took him. I wasn’t even there.”

 

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” Martha says slumping as her anger drains from her, but Rose was still full of fire.

 

“It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be. Oh, that’s quite good.”

 

“I’m sorry for you losing your son,” Rose tells him with sincerity. “And this place might’ve saved you, but what about the others already in this place? What about them? What’s being done to help them? To save them?” She gets up close to his face. “Because I’ll tell you something right now. By shoving them in this place, you’re telling ‘em they’re no longer human. You got a second chance, but what about those who weren’t lucky enough to get one?”

 

“And there aren’t any true medical doctors helping to treat these people. How can this be called a hospital with no medical staff and those who abuse their position to get their rocks off?” Martha adds, her anger coming back to life due to Rose’s outburst.

 

Shakespeare splutters at their words, his mouth working through words that he doesn’t speak.

 

“This way, my Lord!” the keeper shouts at them, saving him from having to give an answer. Martha gives Rose’s hand a squeeze and Rose smiles at her, sniffing back tears.

 

“They can be dangerous, my Lord,” the keeper warns them as he unlocks the cell. “Don’t know their own strength.”

 

“It helps if you don’t whip them,” Rose scolds him. The keeper frowns at her before leaving them alone with Peter Streete. “Peter? Peter Streete?” she calls out to him.

 

“He’s the same as he was,” Shakespeare tells her with a shake of his head. “You’ll get nothing out of him.” Rose reaches out and touches the man’s shoulder. He just raises his head and stares at her blankly.

 

\--

 

“What is this?” the youngest witch asks. “I must see.” They all three go to the cauldron and stir it to see a birds eye view of the inside of Peter Streete’s cell.

 

“That stranger,” the youngest says pointing at Rose. “She was at the inn with Shakespeare. I thought then she smelt of something new.”

 

“Now she visits the madhouse. The architect,” another witch spouts.

 

\--

 

“Peter,” Rose says softly pulling out the psychic paper. “I’m going to put something in your hands. All you have to do is think and this will write it out for you.” She places the paper in his hands and is relieved to see him clench it tightly. “Tell me the story, Peter. Tell me about the witches.”

 

\--

 

“Who is this flower? Why does she come now at our time of glory?” the youngest witch scowls. “Doomfinger, transport yourself. Doom the flower girl. Doom her hide.”

 

\--

 

“Witches spoke to Peter,” Rose reads off the paper. “In the night, they whispered. They whispered. Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design. The fourteen walls. Always fourteen. When the work was done, they snapped poor Peter’s wits.”

 

“Where did Peter see the witches?” Martha asks.

 

“All Hallows Street,” Rose reads.

 

“Too many words,” a voice from the corner hisses at them. They turn to see the ghostly figure of a witch. “Just one touch of the heart!” She says stretching out her arm and puts a finger on Peter’s heart.

 

“No!” Rose cries out, but is too late to do anything. Peter is dead.

 

“Witch!” Shakespeare shouts. “I’m seeing a witch!”

 

“Now, who would be next, hmm? Just one touch. Oh, oh, I’ll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals,” the witch says in mock sympathy.

 

“Let us out! Let us out!” Martha shouts through the cell bars, shaking them for emphasis.

 

“The whole building’s shouting that,” Rose tells her backing away from Peter’s body.

 

“Who will die first, hmm?” the witch asks.

 

“Well, if you’re looking for volunteers,” Rose suggests standing in front of Martha and Shakespeare.

 

“No! Don’t!” Marth yells at her.

 

“Rose, can you stop her?” Shakespeare whispers as if a louder voice will bring attention to him.

 

“No mortal has power over me,” the witch states proudly.

 

“Oh, but this mortal does,” Rose tells her with a feral grin on her face. “An’ it’s thanks to that mortal you broke. He gave me the word to defeat you. You think you could take his mind and mold it to your will without him fighting back?”

 

“What nonsense are you spouting, girl?” the witch asks her.

 

“There’s power in words, don’t you agree? Especially when I do this: Creature, I name you Carrionite!” Rose shouts.

 

The witch screams and vanishes in a slow flash of light. Martha blinks the whiteness away and looks around the cell, but the witch is truly gone.

 

“What’d you do?” she asks Rose.

 

“I named her,” Rose tells her a smug grin on her face. “They broke Peter Streete, but he fought back. His last thoughts were what saved us.” She held up the psychic paper. In it was written  _ Words are power. Words can banish. Peter was taught that by Carrionite _ .

 

“Words are power?” Shakespeare reads off, his tone incredulous.

 

“Oh, they are more than power,” Rose corrects. “They’re down right magic. You say the right thing and you can bring down the PM in six words.”

 

“You can change people’s minds with the right words,” Martha adds.

 

“If you use ‘em right,” Rose agrees.

 

“Use them for what?” Shakespeare asks looking as if he needs to sleep for a good year or so.

 

“Well, judging by what we jus’ saw, I’m guessing the end of the world.”

 

\--

 

“She knows us!” Doomfinger screeches. “She spoke our name!”

 

“Then she will know death,” the youngest witch tells her. “She will perish at my hand. My mothers. The time approaches. You must away to the Globe. Go. I will join you as soon as this woman screams her last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the two part episodes like Daleks in Manhattan and the Family of Blood plotlines, do y'all want them to be individual parts of the series, or like, chapters of the same part of the series?
> 
> Also! I'm thinking about doing another DW AU and I am looking for someone to proofread the snippets I have so I can focus mainly on this series. I wanna get this series at least mostly finished before I post the other AU, but I can't help but write some of the new AU out when something springs to mind. Any help would be well, helpful!


	4. Good Guess, But No Alien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Martha work to find the witches while Shakespeare has to stop his play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only uploading now because I am currently working on part seven-ish and need to rewrite a few things. Since it's most prolly going to consume my whole week, I won't really have time to update at any other time.
> 
> Enjoy the last chapter! Hopefully I can bang out the kinks of the part I'm working on to give you part four!

“I wasn’t even sure that witches were really real,” Rose says as they get back to Shakespeare's writing room at the Elephant Inn.

 

“Well, I’m going for real,” Shakespeare tells her as he slumps into his chair.

 

“But how are they going to end the world?” Martha asks as she leans back in her chair. She was regretting not taking a kip when things were mostly peaceful.

 

“Well, you said it,” Rose tells her. “You said it all had to do with him. And if we know that words hold power, then,” she trails off.

 

“Me?” Shakespeare asks pointing at himself. “But I’ve done nothing.”

 

“Hold on, though,” Martha says as she thinks. “What were you doing last night, when the Carrionite was in the room?”

 

“Finishing the play,” he tells her not getting what she means.

 

“And what happens at the end?” Rose asks him.

 

“The boys get the girls. They have a bit of a dance. It’s all funny and thought provoking as usual,” he boasts. “Except those last few lines. Funny thing is, I don’t actually remember writing them.”

 

“That must be it,” Rose says standing up to pace. “They must’ve used you like they did Peter. They broke into your mind and gave you the words to Love’s Labour’s Won!”

 

“Like a spell or code or something,” Martha adds. Rose nods sharply.

 

“An’ it has something to do with the fourteen sides of the Globe itself. It must be some sort of battery or something.”

 

“The play’s the thing!” Martha shouts and Rose grins.

 

\--

 

“We left the lovers of Navarre by cruel chance separated, none to claim his heart, their labour’s lost,” Burbage says upon the stage of the Globe as the play starts. “Now, will they find Love’s Labour’s Won?” The crowd cheers as he asks the question. Two of the witches are sat in an upper box seating, watching as the play progresses.

 

\--

 

“Me an’ Martha will go after the witches. Will you go try an’ stop your play? Sorry,” she adds knowing that it must be hard to put a stop to something you created.

 

Shakespeare shakes his head. “I’ll do it. All these years, I’ve been the cleverest man around. Next to you two, I feel I know nothing.”

 

“Oh, don’t complain,” Martha tells him with a roll of her eyes.

 

“I’m not,” he protests. “It’s marvellous. Good luck, Dame Rose, Martha.”

 

“Good luck to you, too, Shakespeare,” Martha tells him.

 

“Once more unto the breach,” Rose quotes, it was one of the Doctor’s favourite.

 

“I like that,” Shakespeare tells her before remembering. “Wait a minute, that’s one of mine!”

 

Martha shoots him a saucy grin before turning out the door with Rose ahead of her.

 

\--

 

“The eye should have contentment where it rests. This spun out year I watch on, groaning stick,” Burbage says upon the Globe’s stage.

 

\--

 

“Patience, my sisters,” one of the witches says to a large glass ball showing several creatures flying in a distant sky. “Patience.”

 

\--

 

“Mewling poor drooped men in stenched beds-” he’s cut off as Shakespeare bursts onto the stage.

 

“Stop the play!” Shakespeare shouts waving his hands around. “I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen, but stop. This performance must end immediately,” he pants out.

 

“Oh, everyone’s a critic,” Burbage sighs out.

 

\--

 

“The wordsmith,” one witch hisses.

 

“Fear not,” Doomfinger tells her. “I have the doll.”

 

\--

 

“I’m sorry,” Shakespeare tells the audience who is booing at him. “You’ll get a refund, but this play must not be performed.” At the last word he drops like a stone to the floor.

 

“Is he drunk or what?” Kempe asks looking at Shakespeare’s prone body.

 

“Get him off stage!” Burbage whispers harshly at some of the background characters. Two men badly dressed as women comply and heave Shakespeare’s body up into their arms and walk him off stage.

 

“You must forgive our irksome Will,” Kempe tells the audience. “He’s been on the beer and feeling ill.” The audience laughs at his quip and applaud as the play continues.

 

\--

 

“There is naught can stop us now,” Doomfinger says to her sister.

 

\--

 

“The thing is, though,” Martha says as they walk down All Hallows Street. “Am I missing something here? The world didn’t end in 1599. It just didn’t. Look at me and you. Living proof.”

 

“And the world didn’t end up with dead corpses carrying the Gelth,” Rose shoots back. “The Doctor used to say that time was constantly in flux. It can change at any time.”

 

“Like Back to the Future?” Martha asks. Rose blinks as she is taken aback by the question.

 

“Well, yeah. Marty did change history by going back in time.”

 

“And he starts fading,” Martha adds. “Oh, my god! Are we going to fade?”

 

“If we don’t stop the witches plot, yes,” Rose says.

 

“This is like a Shakespeare play,” Martha mutters.

 

“But which house?” Rose asks. As soon as she asks a door to the house across from where they stood creaked open.

 

“Make that witch house,” Martha says as they walk towards it.

 

“I take it we’re expected,” Rose says as they take the stairs up to the first floor.

 

“Oh, I think Death has been waiting for you a very long time,” the witch tells her.

 

“You’re the serving girl from Dolly’s inn,” Rose points out.

 

“Lilith. My name is  _ Lilith _ ,” Lilith spits out bitterly. Clearly there were some issues there.

 

“Right then,” Martha says squaring her shoulders and stepping forward with her finger pointed outwards. “It’s my turn. I know how to do this. I name thee Carrionite!” When nothing happens she turns to Rose. “What did I do wrong? Was it the finger?”

 

“The power of the name works only once,” Lilith imparts. “Observe. I gaze upon this bag of bones and now I name thee Martha Jones.”

 

Martha falls backwards into Rose’s arms who gently places her on the floor, checking her pulse and is relieved when she feels one.

 

“What did you do to her?” Rose shouts.

 

“Only sleeping, alas,” Lilith says with pity. “It’s curious. The name has less impact. She’s somehow out of her time. And for you Dame Rose,” Lilith shouts as she points at Rose. “Fascinating,” Lilith muses as Rose is still braced for what the witch threw at her.

 

It didn’t make sense. Rose was her name, so how come she wasn’t passed out on the floor next to Martha?

 

“There is more than one name,” Lilith says. “Now, why would a lady hide behind one and secret the other?”

 

“The naming won’t work on me,” Rose says in wonder. She was a little scared of what that meant. Was she changing just like her mother said she would?

 

“Oh, but there is a word with power that aches,” Lilith tells her. “And with you being such a bother, one might want to call one’s… Doctor?”

 

Rose’s head shot up at that. “Oh, big mistake,” she tells Lilith. “‘Cos that name keeps me fighting!” She stands up and walks over to the witch. “So, you the last of your kind or something?” she taunts.

 

“The Eternals found the right word to banish us into deep darkness,” Lilith tells her as they circle the room.

 

“An’ you escaped?”

 

“Oh, there were new words. New and glittering, from a mind like no other.”

 

“Shakespeare.”

 

“His son perished. The grief of a genius,” Lilith says with a smile to her face. “Grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance.”

 

“Allow how many, exactly?”

 

“Just the three, but the play tonight shall restore the rest,” Lilith brags. “Then the human race will be purged as pestilence. And from this world we will lead the Universe back into the old ways of blood and magic.”

 

“You’ll have to get past me first,” Rose says with a taunting grin.

 

“Oh, that shall be easy, considering my enemy has such a slight shape.”

 

“Oi, watch it, missy. You’ve a slight shape as well. Don’t knock the power of this mortal,” Rose tells her, squaring her shoulders to stand taller. Lilith darts forward and yanks on her hair. Rose backs away before the witch could grab a fistful. “Oh, we’ve gotten to hair pullin’ already?”

 

“Souvenir,” Lilith tells her holding up several strands of Rose’s hair. She also pulls out a clay voodoo doll and before she can use it, Rose uses her distraction to rush forward and deliver a punch to the witch’s face. Lilith drops to the floor, out cold.

 

“Slight shape  _ that _ , bitch,” Rose huffs out looking down at her unconscious body. She hears Martha groan behind her and goes over to her.

 

“Slowly, slowly,” Rose tells her as she helps Martha sit up.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I punched her,” Rose says simply. Martha looks over to where the witch is lying motionless and laughs before groaning at the pain in her head. She stands slowly with help from Rose and makes her way over to Lilith.

 

“Is that your hair?” she asks making a face at the woman on the floor.

 

“Yeah, I thought it was quite rude, too,” Rose agrees snatching her hair strands from Lilith’s hand. “I guess we should tie her up before heading to the Globe.”

 

“This is so not what I pictured when I agreed to travel with you,” Martha groans out as they bind Lilith’s hands and ankles.

 

“It wouldn’t be an adventure without a little bondage, as my mate Jack would say.”

 

“Your friend Jack sounds mad,” Martha tells her as they descend the stairs and out the house.

 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Rose responds with a laugh.

 

\--

 

“Where is daughter Lilith?” Doomfinger asks her sister.

 

“The ladies have prepared a show,” Burbage belts out from below on the stage. “Maria means to present Isis descending from the dewy orb of Heaven. Ah, here comes Costard.”

 

“Masters!” Kempe calls out.

 

\--

 

“We’re going the wrong way!” Martha shouts and Rose immediately comes to a halt.

 

“Thank goodness for your sense of direction,” Rose tells her as they turn around and start to run again.

 

\--

 

“Behold the swainish sight of a woman’s love. Pish! It’s out of season to be heavy disposed,” Burbage says on the stage.

 

“It is now, my sister,” Doomfinger states. “The final words to activate the tetradecagon and where is daughter Lilith?”

 

“Betwixt Dravidian shores and linear five nine three oh one six seven point oh two, and strikes the fulsome grove of Rexel Four. Co-radiating crystal, activate!” Burbage shouts as a wind rips through the theatre.

 

“The portal opens. It begins!” Doomfinger says.

 

\--

 

“I told thee so!” a preacher shouts pointing to the red glow above the Globe Theatre. “I told thee!”

 

“Stage door!” Martha shouts over the wind and her and Rose burst through it. They turn the corner in the small backstage hallway and see Shakespeare coming to rubbing the back of his head.

 

“Stop the play, I think that was it!” Rose shouts at him as she hears the audience shout in fear.

 

“I hit my head,” Shakespeare tells her with a groan.

 

“Didn’t stop me,” Martha tells him even though it most certainly did stop her. Rose runs up the steps of the left wing and Martha and Shakespeare follow her.

 

The two Carrionite witches in the box seat hiss as Rose comes into view. “The flower girl lives!”

 

“Then she can watch this world become a blasted heath! They come! They come!” Doomfinger shouts in joy.

 

“Come on, Will!” Rose tells the man behind her.

 

“What can I do?” Shakespeare asks her as he looks up at the whirlwind in the sky.

 

“Reverse it!” Rose shouts back.

 

“How am I supposed to do that?”

 

“They needed your words for a reason, Will,” Rose tells him. “Your words have power, they bring things to life. You’re the only man clever enough to do it.”

 

“But what words? I have none ready,” Shakespeare tells her anxiously.

 

“You’re WIlliam Shakespeare!” Martha tells him.

 

“But these Carrionite phrases, they need such precision.”

 

“Trust in yourself,” Rose tells him. “Think of your son, think of your wife, of your family. Let the words come like magic. You choose the perfect words, Will.” Shakespeare takes in a gulp of air before walking towards centre stage.

 

“Close up this din of hateful, dire decay, decomposition of your witches’ plot. You thieve my brains, consider me your toy. My doting Rose tells me I am not!” Shakespeare shouts to the Heavens.

 

“No! Words of power!” Doomfinger shouts from her box seat.

 

“Foul Carrionite spectres, cease your show! Between the points… between the points seven six one three nine oh! Banished like a tinker’s cuss, I say to thee..” he trails off again and before he can think up a word Martha shouts one for him.

 

“Expelliarmus!”

 

“Expelliarmus!” Rose repeats and so does Shakespeare, pointing at the sky as he does so.

 

“Good old JK!” Martha shouts joyously.

 

“The deep darkness! They are consumed!” Doomfinger shrieks before being consumed herself, along with her sister and Lilith. They are sucked up into the sky along with the script for Love’s Labour’s Won. Anything that had to do with the Carrionites was gone in the blink of an eye.

 

The audience, silent in their fear, now applaud as they believe the play finishes.

 

“They think it was special effects?” Martha asks and Rose snorts.

 

“That’s what Dickens thought, too.”

 

“Your effect is special indeed,” Shakespeare tells Martha with a leer. Martha sighs, she thought they were past this.  _ You help the man save the world and he still hits on you _ , Martha thinks to herself.

 

“It’s not your best line,” Martha tells him as they walk further onto the stage. They take a bow while Rose sneaks off stage to go to the box where the Carrionites were. She sees a sort of crystal ball sitting there, but instead of showing the future, it shows three Carrionites clawing at the glass. Rose picks it up and sets it in her dress pocket, marvelling at how she can’t even feel the weight of it in there.

 

“Time Lords should’ve flogged these bigger on the inside pockets,” she mutters to herself. “Talk about making a mint.”

 

\--

 

“And I say, a heart for a hart and a dear for a deer,” Shakespeare finishes telling Martha the next morning. They are back at the Globe so that Shakespeare can make sure that everything of Love’s Labour’s Won was gone.

 

“I don’t get it,” Martha tells him with a shake of her head.

 

“Then give me a joke from your side of London,” Shakespeare says put out that she didn’t get her joke.

 

“Okay,” Martha says rising to the challenge. “Shakespeare walks into a pub and the landlord says, Oi, mate, you’re Bard.”

 

Shakespeare smiles. “That’s brilliant. Doesn’t make sense, mind you, but never mind that. Now, come here,” he says as he pulls her towards him. He wraps an arm around her waist and holds her to him and Martha leans back as far as she can.

 

“I’ve only just met you,” she says not really knowing what to do in this situation. 

 

“Oh, but my wife is in the country. Why not entertain me until I go back?”

 

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Martha says as she pushes on his chest. “Oh, great genius, but your breath doesn’t half stink.”

 

Rose walks in at that moment, a frilly ruff around her neck and a skull in her hand. “You’ve got a cool prop store back there,” Rose tells him before assessing the situation. “Will, let go of Martha.” She throws the skull behind her as she comes towards them.

 

Shakespeare complies much to Martha’s relief. She liked him, but she wasn’t that into bad hygiene and he was married. It probably didn’t mean much in these days, but it meant a lot to her.

 

“How’s your head?” Rose asks him.

 

“Still aching,” he tells her rubbing the back of it trying to earn sympathy points.

 

“Oh, wear this,” Rose tells him taking off the ruff and helping him put it on. Martha barely holds in her laughter. A wink from Rose tells her that she did it intentionally and Martha had to bite her lip to keep the laugh in.

 

“The play all gone?” Martha asks.

 

“My lost masterpiece,” Shakespeare whinges before perking up again. “Oh, but I’ve got new ideas. Perhaps it’s time I wrote about fathers and sons, in memory of my boy, my precious Hamnet.”

 

“Hamnet?” Martha asks him.

 

“That’s him,” Shakespeare says with a small, fond smile.

 

“Ham _ net _ ?” she repeats.

 

“What’s wrong with that?” he asks her, offended. Martha shakes her head and doesn’t reply.

 

“Well, we ought to be going,” Rose sighs out.

 

“You mean to travel in time and space,” Shakespeare corrects and both Rose’s and Martha’s jaws drop to the floor.

 

“You what?” Rose asks dumbly.

 

“You’re from another world like the Carrionites, and Martha’s from the future. It’s not hard to work out.” He shrugs.

 

“Actually, we’re both from the future,” Rose tells him still in shock. Out of everyone to have guessed the truth, it had to be William Shakespeare. The Doctor  _ did _ always say he was a genius.

 

“You are?” He looks put out for a second before waving it off. “No matter, I’ve got a goodbye verse for Martha. A sonnet for my Dark Lady,” he tells her taking her hand. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

 

He was stopped from continuing by Burbage and Kempe entering through the Globe’s main entrance.

 

“Will!” Burbage shouts.

 

“Will, you’ll never believe it. She’s here! She’s turned up!” Kempe shouts as well.

 

“We’re the talk of the town. She heard about last night. She wants us to perform again.”

 

“Who?” Martha asks her hand still in Shakespeare’s grasp.

 

“Her Majesty. She’s here,” Burbage answers. “Queen Elizabeth the First!”

 

There’s a royal fanfare as the Queen emerges from the crowd of bodyguards around her.

 

“Dame Rose!” The Queen shouts.

 

“What?” Rose asks dumbly.

 

“My sworn enemy,” the Queen declares. Rose splutters as Martha grabs her wrist.

 

“See you later, Will,” Martha says to the man before yanking on Rose’s arm. “Run!”

 

“Off with her head!” The Queen commands as they race out the Globe’s doors and towards where Rose parked the TARDIS.

 

“What did you do to upset her?” Martha asks as they crash into the TARDIS.

 

“Haven’t the faintest!” Rose laughs out as she spins around the console and starts the dematerialisation sequence. Martha joins in and soon they are off into the Vortex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters it is! Thanks to those who commented! I really enjoy y'alls feedback.
> 
> Is anyone else excited about the new doctor? I thought they were going to get a man of colour due to the mystery of it all, but the Doctor finally joining the Master in becoming a woman is awesome. I loved Missy, and I can't wait for the new adventures this new new new Doctor will bring us!


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